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Baccalaureate Sermon, 



AND 



Oration and Poem. 



CLASS OF 1875. 




CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1875. 



Baccalaureate Sermon, 



AND 



Oration and Poem. 



Ho>uuojdi UA\!uvot4Jfop L A S S OF 1875. 




CAMBRIDGE: 
PRESS OF JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1875. 



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Class Commtttee* 



JAMES ALBERT HODGE. 
BENJAMIN ROBBINS CURTIS. 
MANLEY AMSDEN RAYMOND. 



Class Secretary. 
WARREN AUGUSTUS REED. 



£ 






OUR COUNTRY'S PERILS, NEEDS, AND CLAIMS. 



A SERMON 

PREACHED IN THE CHAPEL OF HARVARD COLLEGE TO THE 

GRADUATING CLASS OF 1875, 

BY 

ANDREW P. PEABODY. 



SERMON. 



"Instead of thy fathers shall be thy children." — Psalm xlv. 16. 

THE centennial celebrations of epochs in the conflict through 
which our country struggled into being have recalled my 
attention to the history of those times and the lives of the prin- 
cipal actors ; and I am strongly impressed with the prominent 
part then borne in public affairs by graduates of Harvard Col- 
lege. The earliest resistance to oppressive laws and arbitrary 
officials was, as you know, in Massachusetts ; and there is not an 
important patriotic measure or movement on record in which our 
University is not represented. Some of those who were con- 
spicuous in the opening scenes, as Joseph Warren and Josiah 
Quincy, were still young men, having passed directly from col- 
lege into the arena of verbal strife, on which the great drama was 
rehearsed before the first shot was fired. Of others, their seniors, 
like Samuel and John Adams, we find abundant evidence that 
they were in their earliest manhood known for advanced opin- 
ions in the direction of liberty, and for weight and power of char- 
acter and influence. At the same time the clergy of the province, 
who were almost all educated here, were, with few exceptions, 
leaders in the cause of the people, and that with a discretion 
fully equal to their zeal, and with a courage and self-devotion 
which quickened more languid, energized colder, and sustained 
fainter hearts in their congregations. Felix prole virum, 
"Happy in her progeny of men worthy of the name," would 
have been the appropriate motto for our University in the 
last century. 

There are some reasons why the manhood of the graduates of 
that day seems precocious by the standard of our time. There 



were then few amusements, little news, no collateral interests, 
tastes, or pursuits ; and the college studies of that period, re- 
stricted though they were in compass and deficient in accuracy, 
yet were stimulating, and supplied highly concentrated food for 
thought and feeling. There was a decided predilection for clas- 
sical reading, not to say study (which would be a misnomer) ; and 
there was an easy, uncritical faith in the freedom, civic virtue, 
and untarnished fame of the ancient republics, which made their 
literature a perpetual source of inspiration to the ardent youth of 
the republic yet to be born. And there was a much more potent 
influence at work. There is no such ripener of mind and char- 
acter as impending emergency, impatience of the present, and 
earnest aspiration for a better future. 

Have we not had experience of this power in our recent his- 
tory? When the news of Fort Sumter flashed through the land, 
there were in these halls those who seemed to their teachers 
mere boys, who started at once into vigorous manhood, grew by 
gradations more rapid than we could trace into high places of 
command, sought posts of the most perilous service, won ever- 
green laurels, — many, alas ! only to deck their graves, — w T hile 
those who survived achieved for themselves a culture for which 
twice the term of peaceful civic life would have been inadequate. 
We had one with us at our last Commencement, the mere muti- 
lated trunk of a man, whose after-dinner speech, with the fervor 
and fire of youth, which his maimed and suffering life had not 
chilled or dimmed, had a depth of prescient wisdom which 
would have found fit utterance from the lips of the elders in the 
gravest councils of the nation. Indeed, in none of her sons can 
our University take a more honest pride than in those who gained 
in war the virtues and endowments that can best adorn and fruc- 
tify the era of restored peace and renewed prosperity. 

If we could only view them aright, there are now for our re- 
public emergencies, perils intense though insidious, a present to 
be spurned, a future to be striven for, which ought to awaken the 
patriotic feeling of our young men, and to urge them on to early 
maturity for efficient public service. I avail myself of the pres- 
ent as a fit opportunity to speak of the claims of our country on 
her educated men. Our imminent dangers are from popular 
ignorance, financial folly, political corruption, and religious lati- 
tudinarianism and indifference. If I can only arouse in those 
of whom we to-day take leave a sense of the responsibility which 



rests upon them as to these sources of evil, I am sure that I shall 
not have spoken in vain as regards the public and even the 
national well-being ; for, though a hundred and fifty right- 
minded youth seem of no account or weight among the millions 
of our people, there may be among them single minds and 
voices that shall make themselves felt and heard through the 
whole length and breadth of the land, as there were, a hundred 
years ago, individual young men fresh from our halls, but for 
whom certain most momentous passages of our history would 
have remained unwritten. 

i. I named popular ignorance among our chief dangers. Our 
unlimited freedom of suffrage — in theory plausible, if not fitting, 
and, whether right or wrong, irreversible — is safe only with an 
intelligent people, and is fraught with peril if the voters know 
not what they do. The early settlements on every part of our 
soil, with hardly an exception, were made for causes that implied 
not inferior, but even superior intelligence on the part of the im- 
migrants, who were drawn or driven hither, not by poverty and by 
the pressure of a population outgrowing the supply of its needs, 
but by political or religious dissent, persecution, or ambition. 
In their posterity, intelligence and the aptitude for it were a tra- 
dition and an inheritance, — not, as has sometimes been said, 
created and sustained by the common-school system, but originat- 
ing, energizing, and supplementing that system, which else would 
either have never come into being, or have died early of inanition. 
The posterity of those colonists is now nearly equalled, if not 
outnumbered, by the descendants of exiles forced from their native 
homes by poverty, and of captives sold into slavery, who had no 
culture to transmit, and whose homes can have furnished only 
the most scanty educational inducements and helps. The com- 
mon schools accomplished for the majority of their pupils, in an 
earlier generation, very much more than they can do now. They 
taught fewer things, indeed, but the few more thoroughly : not 
that schools or teachers were better, but they had more receptive 
pupils, — for the most part children from families where there was, 
if not extended knowledge, mental activity, — where, if there were 
not many books, there was at least the English Bible, which every 
child was trained, expected, nay, required to read, and which 
(to say nothing of its religious uses) expanded and deepened the 
thought of its readers, gave them a rich vocabulary to think with, 
checked the growth of provincialisms and vulgarisms in diction, 



- 8 

and imparted a higher, purer tone to common intercourse and 
daily life. 

But the system, which seemed so efficient when buttressed and 
subsidized by home-influences, is inadequate to its assigned work 
for the children of the unprivileged, even here in New England, 
much more so in the western and south-western sections of the 
country ; yet it might be made adequate without any added ex- 
penditure of time or money. When, nearly forty years ago, the 
public schools were thought to have fallen behind the demands 
of the age, a reform-movement was started, and a new spirit was 
infused into the whole system, mainly through the labors of Hor- 
ace Mann. That spirit has been so materialized and solidified 
into soulless formalisms, organisms, routines, and repetitions, that, 
were he to reappear among us, he would recognize but little of 
what is still called his work. More red tape is now used in 
many single schools than would have sufficed for the whole State 
half a century ago. By a Mezentian classification, the children 
that are capable of progress are kept at the snail's pace of their 
dull and immobile schoolmates, and the slowest of the flock 
mark time for all the rest. Meanwhile, public munificence wastes 
in costly structures, that are hardly, built before some fresh pre- 
vailing fancy requires that they be remodelled, the funds which, 
expended in brain-power, might perform efficient service. A 
large proportion of the pupils leave school without having even 
learned to read with sufficient ease for the art to be of any prac- 
tical benefit. They have, indeed, by dint of wearisome and use- 
less reperusal memorized a few fragments of prose and verse, 
generally of second or third rate literary merit, but have not ac- 
quired the ability to read understandingly a common newspaper 
paragraph. The fault lies not with the teachers, who perform 
their appointed routine-work with fidelity and zeal, many of them 
with amazing skill ; but the very best of them, under the require- 
ments of a lifeless, obsolete, yet imperatively exacting system, 
are cramped as David was when he put on Saul's armor to go 
into battle with the Philistine giant. 

Our schools, to do their work, must be emancipated from dead 
prescription and Procrustean methods and standards ; they must 
be officered throughout by teachers who are enamoured of their 
profession and magnify their calling ; and those teachers must be 
left free to do the very best that is in them for children of all types 
and grades of capacity, disposition, and home-training. This is 



9 

an interest which craves the attention and effort of our educated 
men, and especially of the young men of high culture, who are 
soon to fill foremost places of trust and influence in the commu- 
nity, and to whom we are to look for reform and renovation. 
Many of you will occupy positions in which you will be called to 
bear part in the charge and oversight of public education ; and 
there is no service that } 7 ou can render which will be more fruitful 
of benefit than the endeavor to make our schools the nurseries of 
citizens worthy of their trust, — the seats of a culture thorough 
in its rudiments, stimulating in its processes, direct in its aims, 
definite in its results, and such as shall impart the desire and 
capacity for a prolonged self-culture. If there be among you one 
who shall have the genius and ability so to demonstrate the defects 
of our present system, and so to point out the better way, that 
he can gain the public ear and act on the general mind, he can 
do no nobler work, and win no higher praise. 

2. Second on the list of our imminent perils I named financial 
folly. Whether it was necessary for us in the late war to set aside 
our fixed standard of value, is perhaps an open question, though 
to me it does not seem so. But to remain without such a standard, 
and to take no measures for its restoration, is at once foolish and 
atrociously criminal. It incapacitates us for knowing our actual 
condition, and the fact and rate of our progress or decline in 
national wealth ; it leads to individual extravagance, by exag- 
gerating the nominal and reputed value of property and income ; 
it encourages over-trading and rash adventure, by the frequent 
fluctuation of our irredeemable currency ; it adds to every ex- 
tended commercial operation that element of pure hazard, which 
constitutes the difference between legitimate speculation founded 
on calculating foresight, and gambling, which trusts to incalculable 
chance ; it thus compels many of our merchants to be gamblers 
against their will, and vitiates the moral natures of the rest with 
the foul passions that preside over the orgies of the roulette-table ; 
it generates the state of mind, and nourishes the habits of thought 
and life, which induce embezzlements, peculations, forgeries, and 
the whole dark brood of pecuniary crimes; and the fearful multi- 
plication of these crimes within the last few years is chargeable 
much more to our financial condition than to all other demoral- 
izing influences combined. I think myself authorized in saying 
this, by the admitted fact that more than half a century ago 
pecuniary crimes of all kinds grew with an appalling rapidity in 

2 



IO 

Great Britain during a like condition of the currency, and be- 
came again infrequent when the metallic standard of value was 
restored. 

Our present financial regime is sustained in part by the pre- 
ponderant influence of the debtor class, always far outnumbering 
the creditor class, and always ready to advocate the policy which 
will enable them to pay or compound their dues at the lowest 
rate. But it could not retain its hold, were it not for the lament- 
able ignorance of a large part of those who are intrusted with 
the management of our public affairs. We have been doomed, 
over and over again, to see the first principles of financial science 
not denied, not disputed, but qufetly ignored by our political 
leaders. Men have undertaken the management of our national 
treasurv, who have shown no knowledge of even the existence of 
such a science as political economy. Therefore is it that I name 
our financial interests as among the responsibilities of our edu- 
cated men. You, my friends, have learned better things. You 
have been made conversant in the lecture-room with the princi- 
ples that have been so shamelessly violated in our public policy. 
Sooner than you think, you will fill places in which your opinions 
and influence will have an appreciable weight. Our present sys- 
tem, or abnegation of system, may continue long enough for you 
to take part in the inauguration of a sounder policy. If not so, 
subsequent crises may claim the preventive energy of those who 
can understand the true financial interests of the community. 
There is no part of your culture here that better deserves to be 
cherished, expanded, and utilized in your future life as citizens, 
as office-bearers, as men of standing and influence, than that which 
relates to the principles and laws that underlie commerce, trade, 
and currency. They have a bearing upon the moral well-being 
of the people fully equal to that which concerns their material 
prosperity. They demand for their conservation and their prac- 
tical working the highest intelligence, no less than the integrity 
and patriotism of those who would do the good service which the 
country will demand of you, as you become what you are trained, 
and, I trust, destined to be, leaders in opinion and action, — 
reformers, or rather rebuilders in the fabric of the body politic. 

3. Political corruption is another of our dominant evils and 
imminent perils. Unscrupulous ambition, cupidity, and venality 
have attained a most portentous magnitude. Entire departments 
of our government seem to be administered with hardly an inci- 



II 

dental reference to the service of the people, certainly with the 
prime intent to buttress party, to reward adherents, and to appro- 
priate public funds for private emolument. The integrity of the 
suffrage is constantly assailed ; elections are secured by bribery ; 
offices are openly bought and sold ; and every political triumph 
is succeeded, or oftener preceded and effected, by a scramble for 
its spoils. Instead of a government by the people, we are threat- 
ened — if the threat be not already fulfilled — with an oligarchy 
of demagogues, from which a decent constitutional monarchy 
would be a welcome relief and refuge. 

You are, all of you, as I suppose, already citizens ; and I would 
have you possessed of a profound sense of the sacredness of the 
trust and obligation incumbent on the citizen, the co-sovereign of 
a free people. It is a kingly office and function ; preserve it then 
in all its purity and dignity. Your every vote is an exertion of 
your moral agency for good or for evil. You assume responsibility 
for the man whom you help choose, for the measure which you 
help carry. Your accountability is the same as if you yourself 
chose the man, or enacted the measure. Dare, then, to dissent 
where you cannot approve. It is because honest citizens forbear 
to let their protest be heard, or to register it by their ballots, that 
corrupt men gain the ascendency, and evil counsels prevail. There 
are among the less informed many who would gladly follow the 
intelligent leading of upright and public-spirited citizens. Follow 
they will at all events, and they ought never to lack leaders worthy 
of their confidence. 

As regards public office, many cultivated and high-minded men 
greatly err by refusing it, when they might obtain, it without 
unworthy concessions, and hold it for the welfare of the com- 
munity. I would have you prospectively look upon public 
charges as positions not of emolument or ambition, but of ser- 
vice to be rendered, if need be, with the sacrifice of personal aims 
for the general good. I would have you, in the future, shrink 
from no trust which you are adequate to discharge, and assume 
none which you cannot consciously occupy as a post of duty. The 
country, whose protection you share, whose honor or shame is 
yours, whose glory should be your ambition, whose prosperity 
you should regard as identical with your own, has indefeasible 
claims on your conscientious fidelity, whether in a private or a 
public station, whether in the wary and judicious exercise of the 
right of suffrage, in your voice and influence in behalf of the true 



12 

and the good, or in your performance of whatever functions of 
whatever grade may be devolved upon you. It was said not long 
ago of one of our best and foremost men, that he would not lift 
his ringer to evade the meanest or to win the highest office in the 
nation's gift ; and that, in either, his only question would be, not 
how the place ranked or what revenue it yielded, but how much 
of sincere and thorough work he could put into it. Such a man 
is the true citizen of a republic ; such were the men whose names 
have been preserved for us from the earliest time in unfading 
honor ; such are the men whom our seminaries of liberal culture 
should train for the service of the state. 

Loyalty is a term which has been too exclusively employed in 
connection with kingship, and in our history loyalist and royalist 
have been generally treated as synonymes. They are very far 
from being synonymes. There is a heaven-wide difference be- 
tween blind devotion to a sovereign who may be a usurper or a 
tyrant, and firm allegiance to impersonal, or rather multi-personal, 
sacred, venerable, eternal law. The true loyalists of our Revolu- 
tionary epoch were the men who armed themselves against the 
oppression, which was galling mainly because it was in defiance 
of fundamental law and constitutional right. Such loyalty is now 
our nation's need, in antagonism to mal-administration and usur- 
pation, to the abuse of trust and the invasion of right, to bribery, 
corruption, and favoritism. As loyal citizens of the republic, you 
can have no better models, no more worthy examples, than those 
who a century ago did honor to their nurture here by services and 
sacrifices that won for them imperishable renown. Be it your 
care that equally honored names shall appear on your list in the 
Catalogue, a century hence. 

4. 1 should suppress my most profound conviction, did I not 
number religious latitudinarianism and indifference among the 
imminent perils of our time. A century ago, there was free-think- 
ing, loose thinking, infidelity in our land ; and there are well- 
known names of that period, which have been transmitted with 
the very reverse of the odor of sanctity. The undoubted services 
of Thomas Paine, and the merited popularity and efficiency of 
his political writings, hold a prominent place in our history ; 
though his scurrilous and profane assaults on Christianity did not 
appear till several years after the close of the war, his opinions 
were proclaimed much earlier, and were shared by some of the 
foremost men in our Revolutionary crisis ; and iconoclastic, de- 



13 

structive work, though in the cause of truth and righteousness, 
nay, of religion and piety, always enlists among its zealous co- 
adjutors those who are mere destructives and nihilists. On the 
other hand, there is at the present moment among religious 
people a higher type of piety, a more intelligent, and therefore a 
more steadfast faith, a more energetic propagandism, than existed 
a hundred years ago ; and if men would only own the kindred of 
spirit which remains intact in and through wide divergencies of 
creed and form, it would be seen that there never was a stronger 
array than now of those who are ready, without compromise, 
doubt, or qualification, to take their stand in life and death, and 
to identify themselves, for time and eternity, with Christ and his 
Gospel. 

But, a century ago, the vast majority of families and of men 
and women in our land, especially in New England, believed in 
the Christian revelation as of divine origin and authority, accepted 
its moral laws as of binding validity, and conscientiously did and 
refrained from doing many things solely from a sense of religious 
restraint and obligation. There was, indeed, a transition-period, 
when human law and authority were feeble, doubtful, and vacil- 
lating, during which our people were saved from anarchy mainly 
by a surviving, though declining, loyalty to the rigid theocratic 
discipline of their founders and fathers. This has all passed 
away. The sense of spiritual and divine realities has ceased to 
pervade the mass of our people, and seems utterly wanting in the 
greater number of those by whom it is not distinctly and emphat- 
ically recognized. In many circles, indifference to all religious 
subjects and interests is regarded as the normal state ; and utter 
unbelief, even blank atheism, or some euphemistic alias for it, is 
not considered even as regrettable, or as impairing the soundness 
of one's judgment or the safety of his influence. Much of our 
current literature deals irreverently and flippantly with the objects 
of Christian faith ; and not a little of our popular poetry is utterly 
heathenish. Religion as a life-power — never stronger than now 
in individual hearts — is no longer, as formerly, a shaping and 
controlling force in society and government. But no government 
has yet lived, no society has yet prospered, without it. Nowhere 
in human history has the experiment been thoroughly and persist- 
ently tried but in France ; and she, after her baptism in the blood- 
bath of infidelity, was only too happy to rebuild her shattered 
altars, to recall her banished priesthood, and to adopt the Church 
as an ally of the State. 



14 

Above all, in a free country, where no man or body of men 
can claim superior reverence, where in its human aspects law has 
no higher source or sanction than the mind and will of the people, 
is there intense need that there be a public and general recognition 
of its source beside the throne of God, and its sanction in his 
eternal justice and retributive providence. He who fears not God 
will cease to regard man ; and wanton, law-despising autonomy 
is the natural and inevitable outgrowth and expression of religious 
unbelief. 

While an ambiguous, undefined position as to religion, an in- 
difference tantamount to denial, can be at the present moment 
affirmed of large numbers of persons of (so-called) liberal culture, 
it is a position unworthy of them, even pre-eminently. For abso- 
lute unbelief, if it be reached by inquiry and reasoning, I blame 
no one. But I do regard him as intensely blameworthy, who of 
his own choice remains indifferent and undecided, — who treats 
the whole subject as one of those inferior interests from which 
it is the part of a wise man to keep aloof. Be it true or false, 
religion, Christianity, has a paramount claim above all things 
else on inquiry, decision, and corresponding action. It is either 
God's best gift, or man's most sorry and despicable delusion ; and 
he w T ho cannot be for it ought to be with his whole heart and soul 
against it. 

I fear not for you, my friends, any results from the faithful 
study of Christianity, its records, proofs, and claims. But I do 
deprecate your indifference to it, in part because the community 
needs the strength which such as you can give to the cause of 
Christian truth, yet still more for your own sakes. You are to 
build for yourselves character, reputation, influence ; and I know 
that Christian faith and piety are the only foundation on which 
you can build with assured safety. Structures outwardly as fair 
and as strong as any of you can hope to rear have, in the sight 
of those who have gone before you, been swept away by the 
onrush of sudden temptation, or have collapsed because the sand 
on which they stood has been washed from under them. The 
time will come when, if you build on any other foundation than 
the living, eternal Rock, you will know and own that it was 
the one fatal and irretrievable mistake and calamity of your life. 
You are capable of determining for yourselves whether I speak 
the truth. To know whether it is the truth is of so unutterable 
moment to you that no subject ought to lie closer in your regard. 



i5 

Not one of you ought to go forth into active life indifferent to 
religion. Not one of you should fail to be either an earnest friend, 
advocate, exemplar of Christianity, or its avowed and open ene- 
my. Were you to go hence determined, each of you, to choose his 
position with conscientious wariness, and then to take his stand 
frankly, honestly, manfully, I feel persuaded that there would be 
among you but one heart and voice, one aim and purpose, — 
that of loyal devotion and lifelong service to God in Christ. 

My friends, though I may seem from year to year to repeat the 
same formulary of greetings and good wishes, I can assure you 
that the old words come to my lips with an always new and ever 
profounder feeling. Years only strengthen the affections and 
deepen the sympathies ; and every new wave of the life-tide that 
flows from our inlet into the great sea carries with it more and 
more of my loving remembrance, dear appreciation, and fond 
hope. I wish that those who go from us knew how much joy 
they give here by their success and honor. Believe me, my 
friends, that nothing that concerns you can be indifferent to us, 
and take with you from each and all of your teachers a hearty 
godspeed on your several careers. May our Father's loving 
Providence and guiding Spirit be ever over you and with you. 
May your powers and attainments be so consecrated to the ser- 
vice of your age, your country, and your God, that the approval of 
good men and the blessing of Heaven may be with you through 
your earthly pilgrimage, and that by your fidelity here you may 
be trained for the higher trusts and nobler stewardships of the life 
eternal. 



BACCALAUREATE HYMN. 

Tune, — " Eva." 



i. 



TOGETHER, Lord, before Thy throne, 
Our heads in reverence bent, 
With grateful hearts and lips we own 
The blessings Thou hast sent. 



ii. 



Thy kindly hand for ever spreads 
Fresh flowers our path along ; 

Thy love its sunlight o'er us sheds, 
And fills our lips with song. 

in. 

And though our common path must now 

In many ways divide, 
As ever in the past be Thou 

Henceforth our God and guide. 

IV. 

Thy presence, Lord, alone we ask, 

If days be dark or bright ; 
And in Thy strength shall ev'ry task 

Thy hand allots be light. 



CLASS-DAY EXERCISES. 



JUNE 25, 1875. 



Artier of exercises. 



>>*<C 





iH tt s i c. 






II. 






P r a 2 1 r. 




By 


REV. A. P. PEABODY. 




III. 






fft tt s t c. 






IV. 






©ration. 




By LESTER WILLIAMS 


CLARK, 




Of New York. 






V. 






fH it s f c. 





VI. 

Poem. 

By THEODORE CLAUDIUS PEASE, 
Of Somers, Conn. 

VII. 

©oe. 

By JOHN WALKER HOLCOMBE, 

Of La Porte, Ind. 



CLASS-DAY ORATION. 



Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends and Classmates of Seventy- 
five : 

ON this the last great day of our college life we meet together 
for a few moments of communion, awed by the holy spell 
of an occasion which marks a great epoch in our lives. And I re- 
joice that I need not strive to bring your hearts into sympathy with 
ours, that I need not burden you with cold assurances of welcome. 
For where heart meets heart in sweet sympathy, where harmony 
and "love prevail, where sunshine chides coldness away and in- 
spires each breast with its own fervent rays, — what virtue lies in 
spoken words of greeting? No censorious audience has assem- 
bled to deride the hope or rebuke the enthusiasm of youth. 
Your very presence is to us a pledge of your interest and indul- 
gence, and assures us that a hearty " God speed you " follows us 
forth into the world. 

To-day severs us, in all but memory, from our four years' 
happy home. Our work here is ended ; and, the last labor of 
duty or love performed, we pass out over the threshold. The 
old household gods will welcome new worshippers, and our 
names, fluttering briefly on a few lips, will soon be forgotten. 
Ah, friends ! can you then wonder that each classmate gazes wist- 
fully upon faces on many of which he may look no more ; that 
this hour of separation, fraught though it is with sorrow, is 
all too fleeting ; and that we fain would dream the Past once 
more ! For as the receding tide is checked from time to time, 
when a wave dashes farther up than those which had preceded 
it, so the ebbing of our joys at to-day's parting is arrested by 
each refluent wave of memory. When, too, Learning, abandon- 
ing for a season its lofty citadel, sits in the midst of us ; when 
Age renews the emotions of youth ; when kindred blood beats 



20 

in sympathizing hearts ; when Beauty and Grace smile their 
approval, — the veil of sadness is lifted, leaving only a remem- 
brance 

" Which is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 
As the mist resembles the rain." 

What wealth of recollection oppresses at this hour ! How 
strong the temptation to recall the many events of our college 
life, to gaze once more together upon many a well-remembered 
scene, as the long panorama of former joys and sorrows move 
slowly by ! How impressive would be the solemn pageant ! But 
I may not employ the delicate tints which more properly enrich 
the canvas of poetry. Mine is the sterner duty to catch the fad- 
ing outline of the Past, to add the soberer hues of reflection, and 
then commit the unfinished picture to the great world-painter, 
Time. 

And in reviewing the marked features of a college course, we 
must not forget how necessary, yet how inappreciable withal, is the 
part played by each class. To the long chain of college history 
every class on graduating adds another link. And though time 
obliterates peculiar characteristics, and covers the chain with the 
rust of oblivion, the essential existence of each link is recognized 
in the existence of the whole. No class may claim the honor of 
having shaped college destiny. The influence which it boasted 
most proudly, the achievements which were thought the brightest 
jewels in its crown, may be rejected ; its fondest fancy may prove 
vain and delusive. As a little stream, it merges with a mighty 
current, and what but presumption dares calculate its effect? 
Each class, encountered by precedents which it unconsciously 
adopts, subscribes to the old college regime. Gradually, as the 
spirit of advance waxes strong, reforms, guarded by valuable 
restraint, are inaugurated. But with us, Conservatism exercises so 
vigorous an influence that premature reforms are seldom made. 
Warned by the dangers of innovation, the College authorities bide 
a fit time for action, and then remodel with firmness and inde- 
pendence. Of this prudence — which, wiien it alters, alters advis- 
edly and permanently ; alters, too, with intent to broaden the field 
of culture and foster the student's most valuable interests — the stu- 



21 

djnts of Harvard reap the rich fruits. It is this that has matured 
the student mind ; that has tended to expand the narrow relation 
which so long existed between instructor and pupil; that has 
ripened our college into a University, infusing arterial life through 
its many departments. 

Of the reforms which have been instrumental in producing this 
marked advance, we may notice first the privilege of voluntary 
attendance at recitations. It was believed that students who 
possessed the average maturity of twenty-one years ; whose college 
course had been opened to free choice in valuable elective depart- 
ments ; who had for three years passed the ordeal of intellectual 
and moral requirements ; who might reasonably be expected to 
devote labor and attention to their elected studies, as incidental 
or necessary to the pursuits of life ; — it was, I say, believed that 
such men might be placed outside the pale of censure-marks and 
admonitions. This year, therefore, for the first time in the his- 
tory of our college, the old penalties for absence were suspended, 
and the attendance of Seniors at recitations became optional. It 
is yet too early to pronounce with certainty upon the future of this 
system. Yet, judging from its success in this the first year of its 
existence ; remembering, too, that its novelty will soon disappear, 
and with it whatever license its almost unrestrained freedom has 
caused, we may, with no weak assurance, augur its permanent 
establishment. The benefits of this system, mental and moral, to 
instructors and students alike, can hardly be over-estimated. On 
the part of instructors, it necessitates original and untiring re- 
search. It develops the lecture system, induces the abolition of 
text-books, and strengthens that activity of mind which their use 
discourages. Each lecturer desiring a large attendance at his 
course, pressed by active inquiry, followed by the critical investi- 
gation of his pupils, will feel an incentive to careful preparation. 
By this means mental apathy, which renders students indifferent, 
and urges them to escape an unprofitable hour, will be crushed. 
And while this system tends thus directly to elevate the char- 
acter of instruction, it also exercises a powerful influence on the 
morale of the student. It gives him a glimpse of the responsibili- 
ties of life ; it encourages in him seriousness of purpose and inde- 
pendence of action, — qualities which insure success in that world 
of which his college course is the prototype. By necessitating only 



22 

partial attendance at college exercises, it gives to all the opportu- 
nity to advance beyond prescribed limits, and to approach that 
Utopia where duty is done for duty's sake. In connection with 
the elective system, it develops mature consideration and judg- 
ment, by teaching each student to weigh his own powers, to 
strengthen his deficiencies, to perfect his peculiar talents, and 
to adapt his college work to the pursuits of after-life. It strips 
from him boyish dependence, and clothes him with the attributes 
of a man. 

Have I, then, erred in presenting this subject to you to-day? 
Do I overestimate the importance of this system when I ask 
undergraduates to treasure it as a valued privilege, to exercise it 
conscientiously, and so transmit to others the advantages which 
they themselves will have enjoyed? On the action of the classes 
now in college depends, in great measure, the future of volun- 
tary exercises. But, in the issue, I doubt not that the students of 
Harvard will establish this system to which the other colleges of 
America nod only a hesitating approval. 

Another department which we have seen advancing with bold 
strides is that of Literature. Four years ago our facilities for 
learning even the topics of the day were few and meagre. Stu- 
dents felt the serious need of a comfortable room where the 
newspapers of the country might be filed for reference. For this 
purpose it was decided to open a Reading Room, and to place on 
its tables the journals, magazines, and reviews of this country and 
of England. Thus the active life of two worlds was placed within 
our reach. We were carried beyond the limits of our life here, 
were transported across the Atlantic, and gazed with interest on 
the working of great Europe. And, while foreign mechanism 
was opened to view, we were necessarily brought into commu- 
nion with foreign mind. As each review laid before us valuable 
digests of new works; as the character of to-day's intelligence 
dawned upon us, we were gradually led to peer farther back into 
the thought of antecedent times. Little by little this curiosity 
increased, until, by a system of free readings, it was at last satis- 
fied. This system purposes to furnish a student, during his four 
college years, with a general knowledge of Greek, Latin, Ger- 
man, French, and English classics. Thereby will be laid a broad 
foundation for future reading, and the intelligent understanding of 



23 

Literature. Until within the last few years the average student 
has lived in profound ignorance of those ancient structures on 
which the course of modern thought are laid. Content with a 
partial knowledge of the present, we have failed to remove the 
clouds which obscure the past. This lethargy is passing away, 
and in its place we hail awakened interest and useful incredulity. 
We may now consider with advantage the more purely aesthetic 
side of college life. Heretofore colleges have been content to 
train their students in Literature and Science, ignoring the third 
division of instruction as frivolous and unnecessary. To our 
University has fallen the honor of adding the last element in 
the great triad, assigning to Art its lawful place by the side of 
Literature and Science. The impetus which the study of Art 
received from University lectures, from the Gray collection of 
Engravings, and their imperfect, but in many respects valuable, 
reflection in Heliotypes, led to the establishment of Elective 
Courses and a professorship in the Fine Arts. It was a bold 
innovation on the severer routine of college studies. There were 
many prejudices to be overcome. Too long had the study of the 
Fine Arts been considered a superlative pursuit ; too long had it 
been judged the mere gloss of manners, unworthy of a vigorous 
mind. The public pictured the art-student as the exquisite, who 
passes his time, — 

" .... as life were but a rose," 
" To rumple bee-like with luxurious feet." 

But the time is not far distant when an appreciation of Art, 
as furnishing the highest mental satisfaction of pleasures, will 
be regarded a necessary element of high intellectual life ; when 
the student of Art will be no longer considered a drone, but 
the gatherer of Nature's, rich fruits; when blunted sensibility 
may no longer hold communion with refinement of mind ; when 
incense will cease to be burned to false and depraved taste. Art, 
as a transcript of the character of a nation, as a reflection of its 
rise and decadence, has increased the resources of historical 
research. Its light illuminates those paths wherein history alone 
would grope blindly. It shows us how Persian wealth raised 
audience-halls of barbaric splendor ; how Egyptian superstition 



2 4 

pierced Heaven with mighty pyramidal cenotaphs ; how con- 
quest enabled Athens to express her devotion in marvellous Pen- 
telic temples ; how the religious enthusiasm of the Middle Ages 
was sung in the " frozen music " of Gothic. And in all we learn 
this lesson, that when the mind of a nation is pure, its purpose 
unselfish, its aim truth and simplicity, then is its Art character- 
ized by beauty, elevation, sympathy ; but when morality wanes, 
when individuality descends into consciousness, when worship 
becomes ungodly, then Art, sucked into the same perverted cur- 
rent, becomes debased. In extravagant developments, in gaudy 
and meaningless decoration, it remains a tinselled monument to 
deceased Truth. 

Besides, history seems to show that the perfection of Art is 
coexistent with high political excellence. National Art should 
therefore culminate when a nation approaches the acme of its 
glory. When, therefore, we consider our own country, we should 
not wonder that she has produced no works of surpassing beauty. 
For, if Art is a characteristic of age, it would ill become us m 
our infancy to force its growth. We should watch our advancing 
life, and mould it to perfect symmetry. Thus may the seed now 
sparsely scattered by our colleges and seats of learning produce 
precious fruits ; thus may public taste be elevated and refined ; 
thus may our land, blessed with a new type of civilization, in- 
crease in beauty and integrity, and utter, like the swan ere it 
dies, its richest melody. 

But while our opportunities for mental and moral advance have 
been thus largely increased, physical culture has not been neg- 
lected. Cricket has been forced from its old seclusion, and begun 
life anew. Base Ball has retained its old popularity. Foot Ball 
has taken a fresh start, and Harvard has brought back victory from 
a generous rival in Canada. Jarvis Field has been prepared for 
out-of-door sports, and the formation of an Athletic Association has 
given an impetus to vigorous exercise. Increased facilities for 
boating have been opened to the College by the erection of a 
second Boat House on the Charles. The adoption of a new 
boating system has quadrupled the number of rowing men ; and 
even this proportion may, by judicious management, be increased. 
Thus practice in river exercise is becoming general, and not only 
induces health and pleasure in the individual, but also aids the 



25 

boating interests of the College. Soon may we see the Univer- 
sity six, with 

"Cross of crimson on the breast," 

restore to Harvard her long line of victories. Military drill and 
Rifle-shooting have also been instituted, and the streets of Cam- 
bridge echo the tread of the Harvard Rifle Corps. Thus do the 
paths of physical culture ramify. And when we consider the 
necessity for muscular energy, we cannot but rejoice at their mul- 
tiplication. Within the last twenty-five years the physique of 
Harvard students has visibly improved. But the discrepancy 
between mind and body is yet too great. In the last annual 
report of the College we read: "Many come to the University 
with undeveloped muscles, a bad carriage and an impaired di- 
gestion, without skill in out-of-door games, and unable to ride, 
row, swim, or shoot." Through the increased interest in ath- 
letic sports this picture is fast becoming a vanishing view, and to 
students alone will soon be chargeable the penalties of physical 
neglect. Nor would I be thought to elevate the physical man 
and lower the intellectual. At the shrine of Learning all must 
bow in humble adoration. But when time and means for physi- 
cal development are allowed by the College ; when those in 
authority strive to place physical training among the advantages 
of a college course, it is pitiable to see an essential element in 
after success recklessly neglected. If the body be handmaid to 
the mind, let her administer faithfully and well ; lest, like some 
mammoth engine whose motive power is gone, the intellect be 
impeded, its advance cut off; lest it struggle to eminence, and 
fall the more ruinously from its transcendent height. 

There remains another theme before which I pause in humility. 
It should be ushered in by the low roll of drums, and the solem- 
nity of martial music. A few steps from where we are now 
assembled, beneath whose shadow our Chapel is content to rest, 
rises Memorial Hall. Its lofty tower strives heavenward, mutely 
witnessing to the valor of our honored dead. Let us enter its 
portals in reverent silence ; let mirth be for a season hushed ; let 
the foot fall lightly on the marble floor, lest heroes be awakened 
from slumber. They will welcome us from marble tablets, which 
tell of duty and sacrifice ; which carry us back to other class-days 

4 



26 

as joyous as our own, when paths diverged to meet again on the 
battle-field. 

On the western fagade of Memorial one may read the history 
of this noble cenotaph. There has the chisel inscribed three 
simple words, — " Humanitas, Virtus, Pietas." How insepa- 
rably are bound up in this inscription the attributes of those 
lives which it commemorates ! Humanitas, which embraces the 
higher education and polished acquirements of the scholar. The 
perfection of intellectual discipline, the union of severe with refined 
study, the elevation of mental desire, — all are included in this 
one word, humanitas. In it is reflected the majesty of mind. 
Virtus, the moral excellence of man, which enabled the Roman 
of old to live the perfect life. Pietas, which gathers up the 
qualities of morality and intellect, and devotes them to a chiv- 
alrous end ; which inscribes loyalty on the brow of the patriot, 
and teaches him how sweet it is to die for his country. Culture, 
Morality, Loyalty, — how priceless to us and to the world is the 
lesson embodied in these words ! How indelibly do they brand 
the lie on his forehead who denies to college instruction the ele- 
ments of good citizenship ; who regards a college as a panderer 
to effeminacy, as the home of luxurious and enervating tastes ! 
Too commonly has this opinion obtained in those minds which 
the direct influence of college has failed to reach. It persuades 
so-called practical men to put a false estimate on the capability 
and industry of the college graduate. His application is too 
often disregarded, and preference shown to one whose dulness 
is mistaken for reserve. Thus is knowledge subordinated to ig-no- 
ranee, and intellectual training to mental torpor. Against this 
injustice Memorial Hall utters its solemn protest. It teaches 
that college does not incapacitate her sons for the stern duties 
of life ; that higher education does not cutoff the mind from com- 
munity with public sentiment ; that loyalty to one's Alma Mater 
is loyalty to one's land ; that loyal once, loyal for ever. 

But Time's swift flight bids me hasten our farewell. A little 
while, and the last pressure of the hand will have been given, the 
last word of parting spoken. The friendships which we have 
formed here will remain only as bright landmarks in the field of 
college life. One by one the chains which bind us will be loos- 
ened. But though memory be dimmed by age, there will cluster 



27 

around the heart associations which perish only in the grave. 
There will rise before us, in days to come, remembrances of 
forms and faces to which we now bid a sad farewell. Such 
memories can never die. And when again we meet, may the 
same Mercy which has thus far kept death from our ranks call 
together an undivided band ! 

Ye walks, that have often echoed to our footsteps ; ye elms, 
that have bent so tenderly o'er us ; ye college rooms, whose genial 
hearths have listened to many a winters tale ; ye memories all 
which sanctify this hour, — farewell ! Your benison shall accom- 
pany and bless us in the paths of life, encouraging in sadness, 
sharing in all our joys, and, in moments of revery, infusing new 
blood into our veins, kindling once more the flame of youth, and 
awaking our affection for a beloved class. 

Thou, too, hallowed Alma Mater ! at whose knees we lisped our 
first prayer to Wisdom ; whose hand first held to our lips the cup 
of knowledge ; whose guiding care directed our footsteps to 
mighty Olympus, — once more as in childhood would we kneel 
before thee, feel thy loving hand upon our foreheads, hear thy 
murmured blessing, and thy last long farewell. May thy sons 
scatter in rich fields the treasure-seeds of thy granaries ; may 
their lives of truth and loyalty reflect thy example and multiply 
thy honors throughout the land ! 

Thus, while the sun pours forth his kindly rays ; while earth 
teems with promise of rich fruits ; while the very breezes seem 
attuned to inspiring measures, our little band marches hopefully 
towards the land of the Hereafter. 



POEM. 



i. 

A LOVELY Princess, lost in charmed sleep, — 
Long years agone it chanced, as poets sing, — 
Lay dreaming, while the palace of the king, 
By the same spell, was hushed in slumber deep. 

In all the chase no creature was awake. 

The banners drooped above the silent towers, 
The lilies nodded through the weary hours, 

The fountain played no longer in the lake. 

And o'er his wine, before the festal board, 

The drowsy king's long beard turned white with age ; 
His beauty faded from the sleeping page 

Behind the chair where dozed an aged lord. 

A hundred Springs beheld the buds unclose, 
And bade the thrush, anew, her song attune : 
A hundred Summers, with the breath of June, 

Made the wild desert blossom like the rose : 

A hundred Autumns bound the ripened grain, 

And stored their garners full with golden sheaves : 
A hundred Winters whirled the fallen leaves, 

And buried deep in snows the barren plain. 

And still she slept, unmoved by changing skies, 

Though seasons changed, and long years went and came ; 
Anon, the red dawn touched her cheek to flame, 

Anon, the moonlight bathed her closed eyes. 



;o 



Till to her bower, at length, the Prince delayed, 
Her fated lover, came to claim his own ; 
Put back the curls that to her feet hud grown, 

And, kneeling, kissed, with trembling lips, the maid. 

Then, by the might of that awakening kiss, 

Straightway the charm that bound the palace broke. 
King, lord, and page, alike, from slumber woke ; 

And, like a gay moth from her chrysalis, 

The maid's heart, fluttering, felt that sudden change ; 
While her sweet eyes unto her lover lent 
Such light that, as from land to land they went, 

He found the dull old world grown new and strange ! 



II. 

The legend comes from laureled lips, and long 
And oft its tender grace the heart has stirred ; 
But now for us there lies beneath the word 

A larger meaning in the poet's song. 

For we, to-day, within enchanted halls, 

With footsteps strange and brain bewildered, tread 
Beneath is blue-veined marble, — overhead 

Grand arches rise from lofty capitals. 

On either hand, in dimly-curtained gloom, 
Broad galleries and fairy chambers lie ; 
Whose walls are hung with stately tapestry, 

The richly-woven fiction of the loom. 

Familiar faces from the canvas gaze, 

Each panel bears some well-remembered scene ; 

The halls are lined with statues, and, between, 
Sevres has for every nook a sculptured vase. 

And here, methinks, there lies in slumber fast 
A Princess, while her lover's steps delay : 



3i 

And each of us, a fated Prince, to-day 
Must wake with one long kiss the sleeping Past ! 

Then let us, here and now, on bended knee 
A moment fall, to kiss our Princess fair ; 
A moment look into her eyes, and swear 

By their kind light eternal loyalty. 

Then forth we pass. And she will follow too : 
Even as of old fair lady cheered her knight, 
Her smile shall make the- future ever bright, 

Her voice shall keep the present ever true. 



III. 

But leave the myth. This hour is something worth 
If it but teach, what we too soon forget, 
That happy days which live in memory yet 

Are more our own than all beside on earth. 

The hidden future lies with God alone. 

We vainly strain our eyes to pierce the veil 
Close-drawn before ; tear-dimmed and blind they fail. 

The past, the lovely past, is all our own ! 

The present, too, ungenerous and unkind, 
Fills us at times with sad and anxious fears. 
But naught can cloud our memory of the years 

That lie in golden sunlight far behind ! 

Oh ! how this truth, most true when lips on lips 
Death-cold the farewell kiss of love imprint, 
Beggars the tawdry dust of mart and mint, 

And from our sordid gain its value strips ! 

All other earthly treasures moth and rust 

Corrupt, and thieves, perchance, break through and steal ; 

For wealth the cruel touch of change must feel, 
And honor lay its head low in the dust. 



32 

Dear vanished years ! our lasting heritage, 
That change and fate can never, never, take 
From us away, your voices sweet shall make 

The same low music in the ear of age ! 

To you, dear years, this hour is consecrate. 
And first to you for whom each bosom glows, 
Ye latest four, that, as ye near your close, 

Fling wide for us the great world's heavy gate. 



IV. 

No song have I to sing but such as each 

Who may have placed beside his ear a shell 
Has heard that poet of the ocean tell 

Of ebb and flow upon his native beach. 

My words are but your words ; my voice no more 
Than the mere reflex of your own, — a sound 
Like echoes that from cliff* to cliff rebound, 

Or the sea's murmuring along the shore. 

Nor is it fitting that my lips invoke 
A single Muse of all the sacred Nine, 
But rather, since it is my task to twine 

Fond thoughts that cling, as ivy clings to oak, 

Around this hallowed spot and hour, on thee 
Alone to-day with eager lips I call, — 
On thee, sweet Mother of the Muses all, — 

Daughter of Heaven, deep-eyed Mnemosyne ! 

And, brothers, help me tell this friendly throng 
Of these old paths that we so oft have trod, 
Than which earth has for us no greener sod, 

And with me weave these memories in song. 



33 

FOUR years ago, one sunny day in June, 
(And of our number few, I fancy, soon 
That long-expected morning will forget,) 
Before the dusky doors of Harvard met 
Two hundred youth, who, clustered on the green, 
Viewed with strange eyes the unfamiliar scene. 
One, timid, stood and pondered the advice 
His teacher, parting, gave ; one, overnice, 
Recalled a puzzling rule or paradigm 
To keep it on his tongue ; and one, meantime, — 
Of some designing Sophomore the dupe, — 
Mysterious whispered to a. listening group 
Of deeds these walls, had they but tongues, could tell ; 
Till all breathed freer, when the awful spell 
Was rudely broken by the dreaded bell. 

To other hearers this may well appear 

The common tale repeated year by year ; 

But, classmates, unto you each word should seem 

The charm that calls again a broken dream. 

For Memory's wand, with magic virtue crowned, 

Can change the humblest sod to hallowed ground, 

Beauty in things most commonplace disclose, 

Call song from silence, poetry from prose. 

Then, friends, while o'er these scenes you swiftly glance, 

Know that the realm you enter is Romance. 

Let Fancy cast o'er all its colored light, 

If aught be dull or common in your sight ; 

See things that seem, not those which are alone ; 

In fine, look through our eyes, and not your own. 

Else you, to-day, will do my vision wrong, 

Check the free flight and lame the light wings of my song. 

We all knights-errant were, our glowing eyes 
Intent on gallant deeds of high emprise, 
Armed with " white shields of Expectation," 
Dauntless to dare the fight in fields unwon. 
Each youthful heart the flame of strong desire 
And hopes untried united to inspire. 

5 






Each longed to ride upon some noble quest : 
To fix, perchance, his gleaming lance in rest, 
And join in combat with that monster foul, 
Who doth for luckless wights delight to prowl, 
Ycleped Ignorance, and drive him back 
For aye to howl in gloomy caverns black. 
Each, generous, longed to free from durance vile 
Some modest Truth, by craft and cunning wile 
Too long constrained. And each, in lusty might, 
Would sally forth with blade unstained and bright, 
In mailed coat for bold adventure clad, 
As brave as Percival, or Galahad, 
Who sought the Holy Grail until he found, 
Or any fearless knight of all the Table Round ! 

Soon as we entered on our College course 

We found the band of hazers.full in force, 

And Sophomores became our constant dread. 

At Commons, thrice a- day, they threw the bread 

And biscuit at us, till sometimes their roars 

Drove all the frightened waiters to the doors, 

And made us realize the fables told 

About the cloud-born Centaurs, who, of old, — 

That prehistoric Sophomoric beast, — 

Made such a tumult at a wedding feast! 

Sometimes they visited our rooms at night, 

Put some of us in bed, and some in fright ; 

And some poor wretches, when they asked a treat, 

Were forced to give the hungry bears to eat ! 

Then, too, as oft as came a fall of snow, 

They found hard balls were easy things to throw, 

And such temptations pray who could resist, 

When none who ever threw a snow-ball missed ? 

For few indeed would find the aiming hard 

To hit a window distant but a yard. 

What royal fun it was to hear the crash, 

As whizzing went the ball through pane and sash ! 

Beside, no danger made the doing rash, 



35 

For after dark there was no fear about 

The proctors, and no Freshman dared come out 

Of doors at night so early in the year, — 

So dodge the watchman, and the coast was clear. 

Hence, when we to the proud position came 
Of Sophomores, we thought it fair to claim 
That recompense, for wrongs upon us laid 
When Freshmen, be by other Freshmen paid ; 
That thus this constant debt might never fail 
Of passing duly down, a strict fee-tail, 
From class to class. 

Methinks I hear one say, 
Impatient, When will students put away 
Things childish and attain to manly thought? 
Yet hold, my friend, is not this lesson taught 
By man to man in legends manifold, — 
Alike by poets sung and sages told, — 
From stolen Io, and Europa, down 

To her whose beauty blazed through Priam's luckless town ? 
Has not the boy, since first the world began, 
Been child as well as father of the man? 
No novel justice this. You still can find 
It quite in common use among mankind. 
From sharp-faced traders, who will coolly jew, 
To-day, their double prices out of you, 
And silence conscience at the slightest stir 
She makes, by pleading that they also were 
By other rascals cheated, six months since, 
Up to the bold and brutal German Prince, 
Who robbed but yesterday unhappy France 
In recompense for fields by war's mischance 
Lost in a darker age, and made defence 
Of modern carnage, on this poor pretence ! 

Oh ! when will kings and men, at length made wise 
By that stern mistress, to whose watchful eyes 
The world has paid a dear tuition long, 
Learn well that right is not akin to wrong, 



36 

And, though you make the series infinite, 

The sum of wrongs can never make one right? 

How long will men forget the simple fact 

That evil will in evil still react? 

And that the one way which can sure reduce 

The list of ills, bring blessing from abuse, 

And call again the world's primeval plan, — 

A single rule for nation and for man, — 

Is, that with earnestness and effort, each 

Should right the wrongs that lie within his reach? 

But when at length our turn for hazing came, 

Resolved to free from stain fair Harvard's fame, 

The Faculty their power and wisdom bent, 

These oft-renewed disgraces to prevent. 

They quelled at once our " Bloody Monday's " storm, 

And made the rugged pathway of reform 

So tempting, we could not refuse to tread 

Therein ; and, by this first example led, 

Two other classes since have helped to make 

Successful what we could but undertake. 

Till now that three years undisturbed have past, 

We gladly see the die that Autumn cast 

Has made the coward custom fall at last. 

Here must the Muse, unwilling, pause to tell, 
In measured grief, the fortune that befell 
Our few and feeble contests at the oar, 
Then turn to fairer victories ashore. 
The less indeed we say about our Crew, 
No doubt, the better. Yet a word is due. 
And ere we draw the veil of charity 
Before our failures, it is right that we 
Should mention what has been done in the past 
Four years of boating : how, from first to last, 
Despite the large and oft-untaken bet, 
The betting men were not afraid to set 
Upon our winning, still our crew would fail, 
And each regatta turned the crimson pale ! 



37 

Each year our men have met by scores to strain 

Adown the blue Connecticut in vain 

Their longing eyes, and watch the distant oars, 

Filling with lusty 'rahs the unaccustomed shores. 

We always had some fine excuse to show, 

And always boasted, " Next July, you know, 

The tide will change : " but though reporters spoke 

In perfect rapture of the Harvard " stroke " 

And " Principles of Rowing," in each case 

Diagonals or fouls have spoiled the race. 

And therefore, here, our class to vindicate 

From blame unmerited, I simply state 

None ever hinted that defeat was due 

To any Seventy-Five men on the Crew ! 

But each year we were willing yet again 

To give our places up, that better men 

(Such modesty how rare it is to meet) 

Might go and claim the honors of — defeat ! 

In Ball our class has held a better place ; 

From Freshman year we put on the first base 

An eye unerring and a reach so vast 

That Yale, in frightened wonder, stood aghast ; 

Our short-stop was as famous until he 

Made quite too long a stop beyond the sea ; 

Our pitcher's " headwork " was acknowledged fine, 

And other members of the changing Nine 

Have fairly earned themselves a worthy name, 

And won for Seventy-Five a modest fame. 

The present year has seen, by happy chance, 

New sports arise, and hailed the renaissance 

Of games forgotten, that of old were won 

At Elis in the Hecatombseon, 

Which kept through Greece a civic pride alive, 

And whence the long Olympiads their names derive. 

You lift your hands aloft in holy fear : 

" And can it be," you cry, " and even here, 

A bold attempt like this to reproduce 



3§ 

These rites in honor of Olj'mpian Zeus? " 

Ah ! no, the passion in your bosoms curb, 

Nor let a groundless fear your hearts disturb ; 

No shrine we build, we consecrate no fane, 

Our lips invoke no buried Jove in vain : 

Though ours are like the sports described so long 

Ago in Virgil's verse and Homer's song, 

Or whereso'er on classic soil you meet 

The peaceful contest and the trained athlete. 

And we have made, in some respect, advance 

Upon those early days of ignorance ; 

For now no more the rustic garland, wove 

Of common olive from a neighboring grove, 

Alone allures the brave contestant's eyes ; 

Our judges fix aloft a richer prize. 

For every winner waits a costly cup, — 

For the occasion newly furbished up, — 

A miracle of modesty and taste, 

All gold within, the silver rim enchased 

With tendril, leaf, and flower that round it twine 

With cunning work of exquisite design. 

And now we turn from river and from field, 
From all the trophies bat and oar can yield, 
To lands where Mind extends her nobler reign, 
And Reason holds the right of eminent domain. 

Then hail ! while we in stately measures sing 
Thine ancient praise, of games acknowledged king, 
Wide-ruling Chess, whose name is handed down 
From age to age with ever new renown ! 
Secure thy sceptre, and thy crown unmoved, 
While palace, prince, and dynasty have proved 
How fruitless is the strife that monarchs wage, 
When men are drunk with democratic rage ! 
To thee old Harvard yields, thy rightful claim, 
" A local habitation and a name." 
Thy doughty knights have far outdone in bold 
Adventure all the chivalry of old, 



39 

Thy time-worn castles, faithful to their liege, 
With colors fixed, have braved the stoutest siege, 
And oft withstood assault and sudden shock, 
Invincible as stern Gibraltar's rock. 
Thy bishops hold a wider realm in fee 
Than any Pontiff of the Roman See ; 
Their power is owned by every sect of men, 
Alike in Christian land and Saracen. 
We mark thy standard borne triumphant far 
Beyond the fields where Tamerlane made war, 
Beyond the tribes that Caesar's legions knew, 
And where Napoleon's eagles never flew, 
And though we own no other king but thee, 
To thee we yield a full supremacy. 

Nor can the Muse forget again to call 
To mind the glories of Memorial Hall, — 
Yon massy pile, whose walls commemorate 
The loyalty of Harvard to the State ; 
Whose tablets, rich in cherished memories, tell 
Of those who in our country's peril fell, — 
Our Alma Mater's sons of noblest breed, 
Who heard her voice in that dark hour of need, 
Armed with their brethren, laid the treason low, 
And dealt to slavery a deadly blow. 
Stern was the conflict, terrible the cost, 
Yet worth the price, if only be not lost 
The lesson taught by blood and battle-stroke, 
That not alone in hearts of steel and oak 
Doth courage waken with the bugle's blare, 
But timid souls are strong to do and dare 
When love of country calls : that they who bled 
At glorious old Thermopylae, though dead, 
Still speak ; that culture does not fear to soil 
Its robes by contact with the sons of toil, 
But, breast to breast, when common zeal inspires, 
They battle for their hearths and altar-fires'! 
And while yon lofty tower its head shall lift 
In memory of the great and lavish gift 



40 

Our common Mother laid upon the shrine, — 
In memory of the blood she poured like wine 
In sacrifice, its presence shall renew 
The ancient pledge, and keep the promise true, 
That ever in the hour of treason's might 
Her sons shall still be foremost in the fight ! 

This hall was opened in the present year 

For use as Commons. And a trifle queer, 

And hardly in good taste it seemed, I grant, 

To make in such a place a restaurant, 

Where hungry men might dine, and chat, and mix 

Their table gossip and their politics 

With prophecies about the coming race ; 

While fumes of chocolate rose in the face 

And faded eyes of all the kindly souls, — 

Those gentle ephors of our tea and rolls, — 

Who, with their hard and half-forgotten names, 

Stare silent from their newly-varnished frames. 

Here Stoughton, sanctimonious, dressed in black, 

Stands with the hall, his namesake, at his back : 

While distant mountains, fabulously high, 

Lift their blue tops to meet the azure sky. 

There Winthrop, an Elizabethan ruff 

Circling his neck, and close beside the bluff 

The " Arabella " slowly sails to port. 

Then Adams, with his wig, equipped for court ; 

His right hand front, descending, — lifted eyes, — 

As if declaiming for the Boylston prize. 

Hancock and Hersey on the walls are found, 

And duplicated Franklin, far renowned. 

While Madame Boylston guards, benignant dame, 

With Mrs. Appleton, our great-grandmother's fame. 

But time would fail, (and patience), to recall 

These worthies down from Ames to Saltonstall, 

Whose wretched shades are doomed for aye to board 

Where Commons doth its scanty fare afford. 



4i 

This plan has brought about the best results ; 

Pythagoras himself would dine on pulse, 

And Graham turn again to leaven and yeast 

If on these sages they their eyes might feast! 

Ingrates, indeed, are all who would not be 

Content to starve in such a company ! 

So, when it happens that the bread is dry, 

That milk and pudding both are watery, 

When hard and hardly-cooked we find the roast, 

Or when at tea we come too late for toast, — 

'Tis sweet to turn our eyes, though weak and faint, 

And view the faces Copley deigned to paint, 

And gaze and gaze till vulgar Wants are stilled ! 

Beside, the gallery is often filled 

At tea " with store of ladies, whose bright eyes 

Rain influence," while each successive tries 

The opera-glasses, practising, perchance, 

Her most bewitching attitude and glance. 

And pray what else could give so fine a start 

To bashful students, just electing Art, 

As these renewed occasions to compare 

The forms and features of the many fair, 

Without the impoliteness of a stare? 

W T hile for the Rifle Corps we find it made 

A drill inspection and a dress parade. 



Thus Memory builds the blessed past again. 
Like one who puts aside his book and pen, 
When the long winter evening waxes late, 
And turns to muse before the glowing grate. 
Without, around the dreary windows, moan, 
For alHhe summer's sunny beauty flown, 
The winds, in melancholy monotone : 
Within, the cheerful blaze upon the hearth 
Calls back sweet thoughts and buried hopes to earth. 
Then, with no aid from spell, or charmed cup, 
Or wizard's art, to bring their spirits up, 

6 



42 

He sees familiar faces in the coals, 
Pores fondly over Memory's faded scrolls, 
Or views again in scant and flickering light 
Scenes buried long in deep oblivion's night. 
Thus have we sought, like some magician old, 
To bring the days departed near, and hold 
Communion with the shades of moments dead, 
Dreaming again of things once done and said. 
Thus have we tried, whate'er the Muse could give, 
To make the past for one brief hour relive ! 



But while we linger, lo ! before the gates 

The Future, with impatient gesture, waits, 

And lifted hand. Her breath upon our cheeks 

Is gathering cool, and, half displeased, she speaks, 

While all around the sunlight warm is shed, — 

" Haste, be the dead Past buried by its dead ! " 

For each she holds a golden gift in store, 

Which, half concealed, allures the fancy more. 

For one, perchance, the helm of state to guide 

With even hand against the surging tide ; 

For one, to stir and charm the public heart, 

Moulding his hearers with persuasive art ; 

For one, to pierce through Nature's dark disguise, 

And read the Truth with philosophic eyes ; 

For one, to feel, within, the poet's fire, 

And tune to melody the waiting lyre ; 

For one, to walk in Learning's lowly ways, 

Finding delight that passes human praise ; 

For all, we trust, whatever Fate allot, 

By men applauded, or by men forgot, 

One boon beyond the touch of blame or blight, — 

A life unsullied and an honor bright. 

And though the winding paths before our feet 

Diverge too widely, ere henceforth to meet 

On earth, we pray the paths we all have trod 

May reunite at last before the gates of God. 



43 

As when the great sun low adown behind 

The hills has sunk, the blue range still is lined 

With light, and loath to pass so soon away, 

Lingers the Indian summer of the day ; 

Slow fade the clouds, with gold and crimson flushed, 

And, one by one, the twittering birds are hushed, 

Till, one by one, the stars peer through the skies, 

And take the trembling twilight by surprise. 

So fades our vision, all too sweet to last, 

So dies for us the sunset of the past ! 



ODE. 



FAIR child of the high aspirations elate 
In the breasts of the Puritan band, 
Proud nurse of the heroes who fashioned a state, 

And the minds that bear rule in the land ! 
With the memories clad of the great and the good, 

With the fame of thy sons girded round, 
Forget not thy youngest who throng where they stood, 
Our brothers whom glory hath crowned. 

We follow them forth in the struggle to win 

Fresh honor for thee. For thy name 
And thine impress are on us, thy spirit within, 

And thine is our work and our fame. 
As we turn to go from thee, we bring thee a song, 

But our heart is oppressed with a sigh, — 
O our friend in life's morning, fair Harvard, our love, 

Our dear foster-mother, good-by ! 



CLASS SONG. 



COME, classmates, clasp your hands around. 
With pressure true and strong, 
And let fair Harvard's halls resound 

To this our parting song. 
Four years are added to the past, 

Four fleeting, happy years. 
Since we our lots together cast, 
With mingled hopes and fears. 

The Future now, in accents stern, 

Calls us from careless hours, 
And bids us in real life to learn 

That earth is not all flowers. 
But when dark shadows cross our way, 

And hope is lost to sight, 
From college days will gleam a ray 

To pierce the blackest night. 

And though we're scattered far apart, 

O'er every land and clime, 
Firm bonds will e'er bind heart to heart, 

Thoughts of the olden time. 
Fond mem'ry will to each recall 

Sweet friendship's brightening face, 
To cheer us onward, lest we fall, 

Faint in life's wearying race. 

Then farewell, comrades, we have long 

Conned lessons side by side, 
But now must join the busy throng, 

And stem life's surging tide. 
Whatever fortune has in store, 

Whatever may arrive, 
We still must cherish evermore 

The class of Seventy-Five. 



CLASS-DAY OFFICERS. 



ORATOR. 
LESTER WILLIAMS CLARK, New York, NY. 

POET. 

THEODORE CLAUDIUS PEASE, Somers, Conn. 

ODIST. 

JOHN WALKER HOLCOMBE, LaPorte, Ind. 

CHIEF MARSHAL. 

VINCENT YARDLEY BOWDITCH, Boston. 

ASSISTANT MARSHALS. 

ABBOTT LAWRENCE, Jr., Boston. 

HENRY SAYRE VAN DUZER, Newburgn, NY. 

CLASS-DAY COMMITTEE. 

NATHANIEL HATHAWAY STONE, New Bedford. 
JOHN HENRY APPLETON, Cambridge. 
NELSON TAYLOR, New York, NY. 

IVY ORATOR. 

ALBERT SMITH THAYER, Worcester. 

CHAPLAIN. 

RICHARD MONTAGUE, Westborough. 

CHORISTER. 

HENRY WHITE BROUGHTON, Jamaica Plain. 



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